Lamberts Cookoff Video 
Being There: Meat Market Meat Your Maker
Where’s the beef? It’s here in our guide to our favorite steakhouses in the state. From the prime cuts to the best atmosphere to the sweetest desserts, it’s time to get your Akaushi on.
Branded by the grill and crusted with black pepper, a ribeye defines meaty decadence. Steak Cooked by Larry Mcguire, of Lamberts Downtown Barbecue, Austin
Photograph by Dan Winters
houstondiner09 says: Chef Ron Killen needs to learn about customer service. We were served cold steaks after waiting for a long time. The manager took them back only to return 30 minutes later with the same steaks, just as cold, and an odd flavor from sitting under the heat lamps. The soup was also cold. I have never been re-served the same food in a worse condition, only to be told its not cold. The tasteless steak fries and greasy skillet potatoes were also cold, obviously sitting with the steaks. And the soup was also cold. The attitude of the Chef was even colder. Try Vic & Anthony’s in Houston-same price, ncredibly better service and atmosphere without the attitude. (January 25th, 2009 at 5:50pm)
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We Texans love us some steaks. As the nation’s leader in cattle operations, our fair state produced 4.8 billion pounds of beef last year, a goodly portion of which was sliced up into ribeyes, tenderloins, and more. There are steakhouses from the Panhandle to the Rio Grande Valley, and we visit them at the drop of a Stetson, either to celebrate that big promotion or because it’s Friday night and we just feel like going out. You might say Steaks R Us.
In February 1997, this magazine published “The Elite Meat to Eat.” I remember it all too well because at the time, it seemed a mammoth undertaking: I visited thirty steakhouses and chose the top ten in the state. I wrote of people being seized by a lust for red meat unseen in twenty years, and I tsk-tsked at the expense of a full steakhouse meal: $30 to $60 a head. Boy, was that the age of innocence.
Today there are ten worthy steakhouses in Dallas or Houston alone, meat mania is accelerating at warp speed, and $30 is what you pay for one itty-bitty steak, no sides included. While hardly endangered, the stereotypical dark, clubby urban steakhouse is being challenged by the so-called “new steakhouse,” a chef-driven enterprise serving up sashimi and truffled gnocchi, pulsing techno music, and a femme-friendly attitude. Happily, country steakhouses are hanging tough. They may lack the polish of their city cousins, but that’s a good thing. You visit them for a grilled T-bone and to get in touch with your inner Gus McCrae.
So it came to pass about a year ago that we decided it was time to reprise our decade-old story. Clearly, one person could no longer do it all, so we assembled a team of trusted freelancers, staff writers, and restaurant reviewers. Together, we came up with a list of some 75 places to try, and then we hit the road, eating as much as we could without splitting our britches. The magazine paid for everything. Notes and score sheets were kept, and when the dust settled, 38 places made the final cut. Our featured top three span the state from Houston to San Antonio to Buffalo Gap. (By the way, seven of the ten from 1997 are on the present list.)
As with any ranking of “bests,” there are bound to be differences of opinion. We expect to hear from several prominent steakhouses that aren’t included, and we know we’ll hear from you, our readers. In fact, we look forward to it. Write us. We’ll publish the names of your favorites and check them out—promise. After all, it’s our patriotic duty. To paraphrase the Duchess of Windsor: In Texas, you can’t be too rich or eat too many steaks.
No. 1—Pappas Bros. Steakhouse, Houston and Dallas
• USDA Prime; filet is prime & top choice
• Dry-aged in-house for 4 to 5 weeks; filet is wet-aged
• Broiled at 700 to 800 degrees
From the gleaming brass-trimmed rooms to the unsurpassed Prime beef, Pappas Bros. sets the gold standard for urban Texas steakhouses. The constant high-energy crowds—a mix of suits, denim, and diamonds—prove it. The right stuff is all in place: The beef is dry-aged in-house. The wine cellars are deep in both American and European vintages and regularly drooled over by Wine Spectator. The servers combine extrasensory perception with genuine affability. Together, they add up to a pitch-perfect steakhouse vibe, blending cosmopolitan style and Texas ease.
The Houston restaurant opened first, a dozen years ago, when two members of the Greek-American family that was famous (some would say infamous) for the mass-market eateries Pappasito’s (Mexican) and Pappadeaux (seafood) turned their attention to red meat. Playing against type, Harris and Chris Pappas opened the classiest beef parlor in the city in 1995, and the quality has not wavered since. Here, purists revel in steaks that deliver a rush of satisfying bovine flavor. The dazzlingly charred New York strip, standing two inches tall and crowned in butter, trumps the mouthwatering boneless ribeye for tenderness and compelling nutty flavor—but just barely. Salads and sides are traditional American: colossal sweet onion rings, earthy dark-roasted mushrooms kissed with rosemary, and a gussied-up wedge embraced by a thick, garlic-tinged blue cheese dressing. House-made desserts are the stuff of childhood dreams, only better. Moon Pie or chocolate mousse torte with an Oreo crust, anyone? Expect not only stellar service but a well-stocked humidor and one of the most extensive wine lists in Houston, if not the Southwest. So bring extra moola and prepare to party, Texas-style.
Open since 1998, the Dallas Pappas Bros. is grandiose in spirit yet casual enough that the line cooks appear to be having a blast and patrons show up in golf shirts more often than sports jackets. The dining room’s wood-and-stone warmth sidesteps the typical clubby setting, especially if you’re seated in the former cigar room, with its leather couches and roaring fireplace. A fiercely loyal clientele appreciates the deferential service and brings a thirst for an incomparable wine program, famous for a 34,000-bottle inventory directed by Barbara Werley, one of Texas’s two master sommeliers and just one of fifteen female members of that worldwide fraternity. But even if you don’t care about the grape, the beef will set your heart aflutter, particularly the New York strip, with its sublime balance of texture and flavor. From the lean, lush filet, an intense buttery aroma wafts forth. An opulent starter is the chunky lobster bisque, pairing a touch of cognac with a hint of cayenne.
The perfect ending is a three-inch-thick slice of New York cheesecake, finished with a lovely white-chocolate icing. If there is a better Texas steakhouse than Pappas Bros., no one has found it yet. Houston: 5839 Westheimer Rd., 713-780-7352 or pappasbros.com. Dinner Mon—Thur 5:30—10, Fri & Sat 5:30—11. Closed Sun. Dallas: 10477 Lombardy Ln., 214-366-2000 or pappasbros.com. Dinner Mon—Thur 5—10, Fri & Sat 5—11. Closed Sun.
No. 2—Bohanan’s Prime Steaks & Seafood, San Antonio
• USDA Prime
• Wet-aged
• Grilled over mesquite
Here’s a riddle for you: How much would you pay for a priceless experience? Would you fork over ten thousand dollars? A million? Your immortal soul? My friends, you’re in luck, because today priceless experiences start at a mere $95. So put your money where your mouth is, order an Akaushi steak at Bohanan’s, and prepare for an epiphany.
All right, it may be naughty to apply a religious notion to a steak, but you’ll think “Holy cow!” when you sink your teeth into the most ambrosial hunk of beef you’ve ever tasted. How ambrosial is that? If a regular USDA Prime steak is a Lexus, Akaushi is a Lamborghini. If a Certified Angus steak is Beethoven’s Fifth, Akaushi is his “Ode to Joy.” In short, magnificent. (If you’re salivating to know more about these Texas-raised cows, see “How Now Brown Cow”)
But now, a word or two about Bohanan’s, one of only a handful of restaurants in the state that have the smarts and the nerve to offer this treat every day and not just by special request. When chef Mark Bohanan made his lifelong dream a reality five years ago, the restaurant didn’t immediately catch on. It seemed, frankly, a tad fussy and dated, even though it was brand-new. But time passed and the place matured, and it has now evolved into something quintessentially old San Antonio: a steakhouse with a country club air. The tables are set with creamy linens, waiters wear suits and ties, and wine bottles rest like rare books in fine wooden cabinets. If Henry James had been a Texan, he would have set part of The Wings of the Dove here. (Hell, Henry James could have eaten here and felt perfectly at home.)
Interestingly, while the demeanor of Bohanan’s is traditional, its kitchen is as modern as many of the “new steakhouses’,” like Wolfgang Puck’s Cut. Yes, typical dishes are offered, like a wedge salad and a fabulous vodka-laced flaming cheese fondue, for those customers who lack the gene for experimentation. But the kitchen’s heart is obviously in cutting-edge creations like a starter of green figs stuffed with blue cheese and sided by slices of Asian pear or a gorgeous seasonal salad of cubed watermelon topped by feta and drizzled with fifteen-year-old balsamic vinegar. (The only improvement would be a dressing that is less in-your-face.)
Though the Akaushi is clearly the star, it doesn’t push the regular steaks off the stage. All the cuts on the menu (including a chateaubriand for two) are USDA Prime, and they come out precisely cooked. If a purist had any complaint, it might be that they are briefly marinated in a sauce that seems to involve soy (the recipe is a secret). If you prefer a simple sprinkle of kosher salt and a grind of black pepper, just ask.
Though Bohanan’s has garnered a slew of well-deserved awards for its fancy service and refined menu, that doesn’t mean it has forgotten its Texas roots. Down at the bottom of the lunch menu you will find chicken-fried steak and gourmet Frito pie. Oh, and the amuse-bouche is candied jalapeño slices with whipped cream cheese made from a recipe supplied by Bohanan’s mom. Of such small touches are images made. 219 E. Houston, second floor; 210-472-2600 or bohanans.com. Lunch Mon—Fri 11—2. Dinner Mon—Thur 5—10, Fri & Sat 5—11, Sun 5—9.
No. 3—Perini Ranch Steakhouse, Buffaolo Gap
• USDA top choice
• Wet-aged for 21 days or more
• Grilled over mesquite
Nobody says “Getta rope!” around the Perini Ranch Steakhouse unless they actually intend to rope something. Such as a calf. Unlike the faux-Western steakhouses that have sprouted up across America, this place is the real thing: a family enterprise located on a working ranch run by a man who wears a Stetson and owns a chuck wagon.
Tom Perini opened his steakhouse in 1983 after deciding that the cattle business was a little dicey as a source of regular income. He’s spent the past 24 years dishing up mesquite-grilled steaks and homey sides to anybody who’s willing to make the trek to his rustic outpost in the village of Buffalo Gap. And where the heck is Buffalo Gap? Thirteen miles from nowhere—sorry, Abilene—on a road that follows such a winding path through farms and ranches that you think you’ve been time-warped back to the set of Lonesome Dove. But obscurity hasn’t kept people from finding their way there, including Robert Duvall, Clint Eastwood, Fess Parker, and Jane Seymour. “That West Texas steakhouse with the Italian name” started out as a place to eat; it has survived to become part of the landscape.
The appeal of Perini’s is complex, but it starts with one word: mesquite. The scrubby, thorny trees grow everywhere in this arid terrain, provoking the ire of ranchers but also providing an excellent medium for cooking any meat you have a mind to throw on the grill. The logs and glowing coals yield a pungent smoke that perfumes the air and evokes the land in all its flinty, hardscrabble glory. Out here, you’d feel cheated if your steak wasn’t cooked over mesquite.
Speaking of meat, there are only three cuts of beef on the menu—ribeyes, tenderloins, and strips—but that slim selection doesn’t bother most customers. Nor does the fact that the meat is USDA Top Choice, rather than Prime. The expert cooking and the judicious application of a dry rub consisting of garlic, salt, pepper, oregano, and beef base more than compensate. So does the presence of side dishes that you aren’t likely to see at a Del Frisco’s or a Pappas Bros. One is hominy with green chiles, bacon, and cheddar; another is Zucchini Perini (he couldn’t resist), sliced squash with a tomatoey pork-and-beef sauce and a melted Parmesan cheese topping. The hominy is nice; the zucchini is good too, though it cries out for something like chicken cacciatore. One of the best is the simplest: roasted new potatoes. By the way, anyone who demands al dente vegetables should check that expectation at the door, because “crisp” is not what traditional Texas cooking is all about. And the members of the Perini family, who have lived here since the 1880’s, are nothing if not Texan.
After you’ve had dessert—perhaps the sourdough-pecan bread pudding or the strawberry shortcake made from a recipe that belonged to Tom’s great-grandmother—take some time to wander around. The rooms are an agreeable hodgepodge of weathered metal siding and wood floors worn smooth by generations of boots. And be sure to step out back, by the picnic tables under the lean-to, to see the circa 1890’s chuck wagon. The relic isn’t in use by the restaurant, but Perini takes it to rodeos for cooking demonstrations. If you ask a leading question when he’s making his rounds of the dining room, he will explain how trail-drive cooks made Dutch oven biscuits and son-of-a-gun stew. Pay attention, because that is something you won’t hear from your average steakhouse owner. Big-city meat emporiums are all about the twenty-first century. Here, you’re reminded that Texas was part of the Wild West not that long ago. 3002 FM 89, 325-572-3339 or periniranch.com. Open Wed & Thur 5—10, Fri—Sun 11:30—10. Closed Mon & Tue.
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